As I look over what was my land, I fall apart as if I were sand.

All of this could have been avoided, if I had just paid attention to the warnings.

As my vision goes black, I remember the past,

Of when I was happy.

Hydrus, by my side,

my lovely husband, far from his time to die,

By my side.

“ Dear, just calm down- “ ,

He would say before I hit the ground.

If he were here, he would know what to do-

He would help me.. but is that true?

I caused his death- his pain and annihilation,

All I must cause him is pure frustration..

And yet why else would he choose me, if not for love?

What have I done-?

To lose someone so true- it is not a simple feat to do,

And yet I did, and as he took his final breath,

My fellow king had said:

“ Love, don’t you cry. For one day, you too will die.

And we can be together once more “ ,

And as the rain poured,

I could see, this was all done, by what I had done before

We are born into this world And told to speak To express ourselves To tell others of our needs To speak in your mother tongue That you learn so early on Growing comfortable in speech Talking to people on the daily Communicating like we were born to But when I speak it’s different It’s a nervous feeling using my mother tongue Having to speak to others Or anyone at all So nervous that when I speak my words twist And I stutter lots Having to see the sentence when speaking In order to not stutter In order to not stand out Over analyzing every word I said Every reaction they did to my words The words I try to not say The words I have a hard time saying The words I over analyze So much I plan out conversations To make sure I don’t mess up when speaking Trying to follow everything Yet it derails the instant the words come out of my mouth The birds in my stomach flying constantly They morphed from butterflies to birds Growing in size when I think of speaking Making my stomach turn and my hands tremble and my leg shake Making me on the verge of tears for speaking sometimes For trying to communicate Thinking of the people I talked to Years ago Months ago Weeks ago Days ago And thinking how it was bad Thinking of how I could have said something different That would make them like me more Thinking of how they reacted to my words Were they really interested or was it just awkward When I stutter and mess up my speech I’m not sure why my words twist And my stomach turns When I speak my mother tongue

Am I blind? I can’t see clearly. Am I wrong? I don’t know what’s right. Am I selfish? I wouldn’t know what was kind.

So yes, I am blind. Yes, I am wrong. Yes, I am selfish.

But I am blind because I see a different way. I am wrong because I disagree with what they call “right.” I am selfish because I chose my own path.

But… If I see a different way, Disagree with the chosen path, Forge my own… Will I only end up alone?

Do whispers get lost in outer space? Or in some far away, magical place? Is hope just a tease, playing hard to get, Leaving us with nothing but pain and regret?

What's love, anyway? A sweet little lie, A daydream lost in the big blue sky? Do stars even care what we're going through, Or are they just shining without a clue?

Where's the wind rushing off to so fast, Why doesn’t anything beautiful last? Can our hearts really tell the real from pretend, Or do we just guess and hope in the end?

Why do shadows get down when the lights go out? Are they scared of the dark, or just dancing about? Does the ocean shout just to be heard, Or is it singing a song without a word?

Does the world around us have a reason or rhyme? Are we here for a purpose, or just to waste time? Is life a race, or are we just strolling along, Are we lost in the world, or right where we belong?

Is it me or is it you? Will we make it through? An unrequited love brew.

Is it me or is it she? Over time I can clearly see, Somewhere else you’d rather be.

Is it she or is it me? Will you set one of us free?
Est-ce que tu m’as menti?

Am I feeling what you’re feeling Do I have a view inside Is it empathy or arrogance To think I know your mind

I’m upset when you’re upset That I’m upset tha— stop. Is it insight or insanity To guess what’s in your thoughts

Sometimes when I’m in tune with all your nuances and moods With things I couldn’t, shouldn’t know But feel as though I do

I wonder if I’m penning my own Stories onto you Tales I’ve written with my eyes closed, Woke, and read like something new

Who truly am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose? When did I stop being a familiar face? Who’s this person that I made up? And when did I change? Who’s the person I am inside? Who’s the one that people know? When did I grow up? Who’s this girl I used to know? Why did she did she disappear? I really must know. When did I become a stranger? When did I stop knowing me? Who’s this girl I used to know? And why did she leave me?

Is this the right thing to do?

I wish I knew, but I’m only twenty two.

Does this make me weak?

Choosing myself over the meek.

“Legs up here, hon.

Don’t worry. You’ll soon be done.”

A single tear slides from my eye.

Is it right to let my baby die?

The father is gone, no where to be seen.

My parents only bit of advice: “At least you’re not sixteen.”

Is this reason enough?

I take a deep breath; I knew this would be rough.

“Just a pinch,

Don’t move an inch.”

Gods, will I ever forgive myself?

This guilt is enough to make one off themself.

Should I even feel this guilt?

It’s not like I want my baby to wilt.

Why should I even feel this pain?

I believe every woman has the right to do the same.

Besides, what could I do different?

I’m young, broke, and alone. Not belligerent.

Why does this hurt so much?

My eyes squeeze shut. A nurse’s hand I clutch.

“There you’re all set.

It’s perfectly normal to be upset.”

Why do I feel so empty?

It’s not like I used a machete.

Tears pour freely from my eyes.

Was this truly wise?

Does it matter?

My baby is already no more than splatter.

I clutch my hands to my fading bump

as I swallow my throat’s growing lump.

Should I have done it?

While it’s hard to admit

And I truly feel like shit

It feels wrong to ignore

what I feel at my core.

Was it the right choice?

I don’t know, but I feel ready to rejoice.

Is it wrong to be relieved after a fetus’s death?

I don’t know, but I can finally take a deep breath.

Am I a monster?

No, I don’t think. I just wasn’t willing to be a martyr.

Since when did this dark edifice become ubiquitous?

Since when did truth become a tool with which to twist and disabuse?

Must it take a million deaths before they act with er?

Or am I wrong to think there’s more to loathe than what they claim is there?

Is it them, or is it me? Who decides reality?

Why do I ask so many questions?

Is it because I’m dumb?

Is it because I’m lost?

Or is it because I will never run out of them, like I run out of answers?